


Therefore I Am

by sad_bi_cowboy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Morality, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Theology, just a little light blasphemy for my fellow lapsed catholics out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_bi_cowboy/pseuds/sad_bi_cowboy
Summary: “You told me once that killing must feel good to God, since he does it so often. Are you calling us gods, Hannibal?”Will has a question or two. Hannibal may or may not have answers.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Therefore I Am

“What kind of person am I, Hannibal?” 

How it had not occurred to him to ask this question earlier - much earlier, in fact - was beyond him. He should have asked it at the cliff top house, before the Dragon descended upon them and he watched Hannibal’s blood mix slowly with the red wine pooled on the floor.

Before they went over the edge of the cliff and the Atlantic spat them back out again, their blood soaking the sand around them and turning it black.

He should have asked it after Hannibal finally woke up on the boat after weeks of alcohol soaked rags pressed over the bullet wounds, makeshift sutures, and a fever Will was almost certain would kill him. 

And he definitely should have asked him before they settled in this house in Buenos Aires, playing the roles of an architect and his quiet mechanic of a husband. Before he lay on his stomach in their now shared bed, the deep scratches in his back and the vicious bite marks littering his throat aching and an arm slung over Hannibal’s abdomen. 

He feels Hannibal’s fingers card through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. 

“Do you often tend towards the philosophical after sex, Will?” 

“I feel like that’s rich, coming from the likes of Hannibal Lector,” he replies. “And since you haven’t answered me, I’ll ask you again.” He presses into one of the many finger bruises scattered on Hannibal’s hips to hear his breath hitch. “What kind of person am I?”

“Don’t be rude,” Hannibal murmurs sleepily, without any real contempt in his voice to make Will think he’s serious. “What answer are you looking for,  _ Mylimasis _ ?” 

“I don’t know,” Will huffs, dropping his head onto the pillow. “It’s not a simple answer.”

“No,” Hannibal agrees. “It is not.” 

They lay in silence for a while, Hannibal shifting onto his side to examine the red lines criss crossing Will’s back and caressing a particularly deep one over his scapula just to hear him hiss. He leans in to start worrying his teeth against a bruise on the join of Will’s neck and shoulder.

“Haaaaanibal,” Will croons, squirming away from the onslaught. “You’re stalling.”

Hannibal flops onto his back again, pulling Will over him. 

“I find the question rather irrelevant, considering,” he says. “I also find it curious that you have not posed this question earlier. You’ve certainly had plenty of time.”

“We have been rather preoccupied, if you haven’t noticed. Why do you consider the question irrelevant? What better question must I ask?” 

“No one is as simplistic as to be just ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ least of all you, Will. To define you in such terms would be a disservice at best and an insult at worst.” 

“Tell me then, Dr. Lecter,” Will says, a hand wandering to feel the scar tissue spidering over Hannibal’s stomach. “How would you define me?”

Hannibal reaches to twist an errant curl around his fingers. Will can feel the  _ reverence _ in his gaze, so much so that the air around them is thick with it. It is the kind of reverence that the artist shows for his subjects, that the pious reserve for their gods, and it makes him  _ ache _ . 

“I see you as righteous,  _ mi amor _ ,” he purrs. “Your anger, your fear, your becoming is righteous.”

Will shifts uncomfortably, the praise falling heavy on his ears. 

“I am far from virtuous and uncorrupted,” he says. “In fact, I think I am the opposite.” He feels Hannibal’s hand over his back grip tighter.

“Then you are righteous in the way of God and his Archangels. Do we question the morality of God and his orders to drown a world that he so lovingly created? Or the war in Heaven that saw Michael cast his brother Lucifer into Hell, as punishment for refusing to blindly follow the will of God? God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son to him, and this story is celebrated as a perfect show of faith on the part of Abraham, when it is really just another moment of God using humanity as his playthings.” 

Hannibal bends a knee and an elbow, using the leverage to flip them and rest his bulk on top of Will, who winces as the sheets contact the still stinging scratches on his back. He brings a hand up to cradle Will’s face, a thumb running the length of the scar following the line of his delicate cheekbone. 

“We worship this God, and yet we still call Him righteous, hold Him as the paragon of morality.” 

Will sighs and presses a kiss to Hannibal’s knuckle, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch for a moment.

“You told me once that killing must feel good to God, since he does it so often. Are you calling us gods, Hannibal?”

He feels a feather-light kiss on his forehead, a barely there tickle, before Hannibal answers. 

“No, my love. I am merely saying that if you are righteous in the way that God is, it is a useless exercise to try to fit into traditional definitions of morality, because you cannot.” 

“If I kill because I’m righteous, what does that make you?” Will asks. Hannibal huffs out an amused sound. 

“Alana and dear Frederick spent three years trying to figure that out.” He sounds downright smug to Will as he says it. “I do not know, nor do I think I’ve ever known. I just simply, am.”

“I thought you said that no one is that simplistic,” Will says as he winds his fingers into the scruff of hair at Hannibal’s nape.

“I said that no one is as simplistic as just ‘good’ or bad.’ I do not kill because I feel a strong compulsion, or because I have some crusade, but neither does killing repulse me in any way.” 

“You know, I think to some people that is almost worse. To them, you don’t kill for any reason, and they find that terrifying.”

“I’ve always had my reasons, Will. Just because others cannot see them does not mean that they are not present.”

Will stretches languidly underneath him, a sleepy grin splitting his face. 

“Yes of course. ‘One should always try to eat the rude.’ Tell me, my  _ darlin,'" _ he drawls, letting Louisiana creep into his syllables. “Did you set out to make me righteous, when you started this little game of yours? Did you want your own sort of moral compass as your companion?” 

“I didn’t  _ make _ you anything,  _ Mylimasis _ ,” Hannibal rumbles, taking Will’s bottom lip lightly between his teeth for a moment. “You arrived here on your own merit. I would have accepted you whatever you chose.” 

“The incident in your kitchen notwithstanding, I assume.” 

Hannibal’s breath hitches. Will feels his hand move between them to trace the smooth line snaking across his abdomen. 

“This is...my greatest regret,” he murmurs solemnly. “I didn’t deserve your forgiveness in the catacombs, Will.” 

It’s Will’s turn to cradle Hannibal’s face, which he does with both hands.

“Maybe you didn’t, but I don’t think it matters now. Like you said: traditional definitions aren’t for us. I don’t think they work for psychopaths.” He pulls Hannibal down to press their lips together, feeling him relax and almost melt into him. 

“You’re not a psychopath, darling,” Hannibal says quietly when they break apart for air. Will chuckles and pulls him close again.

“Neither are you. You feel too much for that to be true. That’s why Chilton and Alana couldn’t figure you out, because you don’t fit into their narrow little boxes.” He tangles his fingers in Hannibal’s hair, running them through and pushing his fringe off his face. “Perfect empathy, remember? I know you. I know how much you feel everything.” He kisses his forehead. 

“If I am not a psychopath, Will, then I ask you the same question: what am I?”

Will thinks for a few moments, idly stroking the mottled skin of the Verger brand on Hannibal’s shoulder. 

“You’re just you. We don’t have to qualify it between the two of us; I don’t want to.” He finds the leverage to roll them once again, slotting his thigh between Hannibal’s and twining the fingers of their left hands together. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters, I think. Let the rest of the world wallow in their failed labelling. Now.” He leans down and bites Hannibal’s lip. “The only label I want is the one of ‘husband.’ And not just for show when we’re out in public together.”

He can practically feel Hannibal  _ purring _ in satisfaction beneath him.

“Will Graham, are you asking me to marry you?” 

“I don’t think it’s as much an ask as a declaration,” Will says. “We  _ will _ be married, even if we’re the only ones that know it.” He feels Hannibal grip his hips tightly.

“ _ Mi amor _ …” 

Their lips find each other again and they fall into a rhythm, rolling their hips against each other and barely coming up for air. All Will wants is to meld with Hannibal, reach into his chest and entwine himself between his ribs and never come out.

To open them both up and let their blood mix and pool as they’re drained.

Maybe that’s what they’ve been doing, these long years - carving out places for themselves in each other. They certainly have the marks to prove it.

Bedelia’s words spring, unbidden, to his mind as he has Hannibal pinned underneath him, practically singing out his pleasure to the otherwise silent house.

_ Can’t live with him, can’t live without him _ . 

Will grins viciously and sinks his teeth into Hannibal’s collar bone.

‘Til death does them part.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, writing Hannibal fic to talk about the morality of God? It's more likely than you think. Also...parallels between the Abraham story and Hannibal and Abigail.....? That's a whole other conversation that I should probably have but...
> 
> My first work in this fandom and I had such a fun time with it, but it is a little stressful to keep up a consistent style of writing throughout, especially considering the subject matter, but I tried. I have no beta, really, so all mistakes/style inconsistencies are my own. It's 3am now so...Hannibal do be givin me brainrot.
> 
> Hit me up on my tumblrs  
> @twink-luke-skywalker (main)  
> @uss-starprise-entership (star trek)  
> @slutshame-alexanderhamilton (hamilton-ish/history/general shitposting)


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